Three steps to the motel, three to the ravine;
Three steps to the bottle, that could be mine.
Three men are wiser, but we were nine;
We drank, danced, drenched till we were fine.
An ode to the place I’ve been living for more than seven years. Where all we have is a dingy restaurant, a dwarfish wine shop, and a shabby road passing through a ravine where landslides occur almost daily.